


dreaming of an easy

by uItimate



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, a little argument, househunting, v v fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uItimate/pseuds/uItimate
Summary: “What would do it for you?” Phil questions, skipping in beat to the sound of pebbles that he kicks up.





	dreaming of an easy

...

It's a place with white walls the color of daisies, petals dancing in the wind and stapled around. Surrounding them are windows that capture the whole world in a camera of glass- framed in _more_ white. The ground is a carpeted beige, and there’s the feeling of it underneath their shoes; a soft crunch as they walk.

Phil's wonderstruck. He keeps looking around at everything, pointing it out- _(Look at how nice this bathroom looks, Dan!)_ every little part of the house and all the nooks and cranies- at all the other more colored houses surrounding them and at the _bleakness_ of the window pane; at the chandelier that hung above the kitchen area, a bunch of things.

Also- at the splash of color underneath their feet, mooning and _mooning_ over it with little bursts of glee; in contrast to Dan’s slight drawback at the sight of the whole scene.

(He has done this with every single house they've seen so far, Dan would inform you.)

And, yet, Phil thinks, it's a possible future in puzzle pieces, grand in his eyes more than anyone else’s. Dan thinks, _eh_ , it could do with a little more color.

They stand there for a little while.

“So?” says Phil.

“No,” Dan says.

“No?”

“No,” He’s certain. It's cemented, and Phil could tell in the thumping at the ground that he's crafting. The rejection echoes throughout the walls. “Oh, okay,” Phil replies, voice like glass. He knows that they have to come to a collective agreement, and they take a final look around- (You sure? _No._ Okay.) before thanking the realtor and walking off, repressing any pulling feelings that make him want to go back.

So, scratch that.

...

They're walking.

“What would do it for you?” Phil questions, skipping in beat to the sound of pebbles that he kicks up.

Dan looks up and around the neighborhood they were in. “I don't _know_. I just don't feel like-” His eyes dart up to a house the color of wood. “Like it would be the right house. I don't know. I just have a feeling that it's not. That there is _more_ out there.”

“Hm,” Phil says thoughtfully. He stops skipping.

…

There's a house with two bedrooms and a guestroom. One room filled with plushies and bright colors; whilst the other one painted in shades of doom and gloom; just like it has been for years inside their old London flat. It also has a _blue-and-brown-eye-catching_ fireplace, which they both run over to.

“I suddenly wish it was winter,” Dan remarks, running his hands along the brick outlining.

Phil only nods.

The realtor agent tells them more about the area they're in: that it's also near a shopping mall that's about 5-10 miles away, with a grocery store not too far off either, that outside laid a park two blocks away. A hand slips into another hand for a heartbeat at this news, squeezing, then descending back into his Jean pockets, and Dan finally decides on a house in ten years.

…

“I don't like this house,” Phil suddenly states, and it makes Dan turn from decided to completely bewildered, and say, “What?”

Phil sighs, repeating again but in a variation: “I don't like the color.”

“The color-” Dan waves his hand around, the same hand that found Phil’s- “Is actually nice.”

“Not to me.”

“Not to you.”

“We have to both decide on a house, you know that, right?” Frustration slowly starts to pour into the depths of Dan’s mind, turning his whole body into a boiling chamber- which was _ridiculous_.  “You're making it hard on the both of us.”

He wasn't that mad, though; over this. That's impossible.

“That's not true. You refused the first house.”

“That's because there were too many minimalist colors everywhere. I wanted it to be colorful.”

“Well, this is too colorful.”

A sigh.

Two twin breaths to steal time. 

“So,” Dan begins again. “No?”

“No,” Phil responds. “So on to the next house, then.”

Dan winced. His hands felt a little clammy.

…

It takes them about two other houses before they give up their house searches for the day, as there were too many houses- too little time.

They choose to lay intertwined in _Dan’s_ bed- in contrast to half of the millions of peeping eyes who think Phil would sleep in his own showcased room that's more fit for a squeaking mouse than a rather lanky human being- and the other half that don't care for much else than to write about that.

“Do you think we’ll ever find a house?” Phil asks, dreamy moonlight cast on pale skin,“‘Cause I'm tired of waiting.”

Dan responds: “For what?”

Phil shrugs. 

The moon stretches it’s leg out through the window and into the white sheets that laid atop their bed and curled around them, shimmering; and Phil dreams that night of their first evening in a year-long home, waltzing amidst the cardboard boxes; envisioning sights of azure skies and a secure feeling riding in each of their chests, something that should have rested there years ago.

Waiting for- what exactly? First answer: a certain home, for sure, one to hold the young ones and an energetic dog, second answer: to be in the clear of all these cameras and piercing scrutiny- maybe that one won't happen for a while.

_…_

“There's a garden near this one,” Phil states.

Dan smiles at the screen. “Oh, _look_ \- this one too.”

“And in this one, there’s a- _ohmygodDan_ -”

“A dog park.”

“An actual dog park.” Phil’s voice now sounds as if it's covered in sugar, and he's bouncing around in it. “Now I _really_ want a dog.”

“I don't think we’re the right people to own a dog.” Dan points out.

(True, they could barely take care of their houseplants, and right now, they own more than they can handle- plus there's _always_ a new one just around the corner.)

“That doesn't stop me from wanting one.” Phil crosses his arms; determined; lips pouting out- knowing full well that Dan couldn't resist that face and wields this knowledge by flaunting it out.

He surrenders. “We could get one. Just not now, obviously.”

“But soon?” Phil looks up, pleading.

“Soon,” Dan finishes, and _that's_ a promise.

…

Phil leaves to go grab a few groceries at the nearby grocer, viewing the passing colors of each billboard and _blazing_ signs, bearing neon hues that shine imploring words to those who watch.

He zooms by what looked like a married couple- fingers proudly geared with a mesmerizing ring, and he felt a little _tug_ within him- and ponders alone; maybe one of these days he’ll get Dan a ring to rival theirs- a ring with a much more _ethereal_ glimmer. And one of those days, Phil thinks, as he sees one of them put a hand on the other’s tender waist, the woman smiling- that it was his personal mission to make him beam like that.

One of these days, for sure.

...

It took them lots of searching- pros and cons, what they desired vs. a dire need- a couple sleepless nights in the dim light of their lounge, frequently sorting what would do for the best of them, but they actually found a _fucking_ house.

 _Finally,_ Dan would say.

Wonderfully enough, it nearly resembles the house that they've pictured in their heads for the past couple of weeks, maybe even longer than that. Just enough _Dan and Phil_ \- more than enough to fill their aesthetic. There’s a backyard back behind them and they lined the windows with curtains to conjure up a warm glow that settles on their faces.

“Like it?” Phil offers later that night, matted in the other person’s body heat.

Dan leaned against his shoulder. “Of course.”

“Good.” Phil grasps his fingers around the temples of his glasses, removing them just so, only to use that same hand and run through the other boys’ hand. “‘Glad you do.”

…

**Author's Note:**

> title is from don't take the money by the bleachers :)


End file.
